


show them a god of war (choices only a mortal could make)

by TheJadeSongbird



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Alistair is an idiot but he means well, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dealing With Trauma, Disassociation, LWS4 - Spoilers, M/M, Mesmer Magic, Set Mid-LWS4, briefly, technically trammander never happened but was just a lot of pining but shhhhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJadeSongbird/pseuds/TheJadeSongbird
Summary: Later, in the depths of Glint's Lair, he would be reminded that this is what it's like to share power with a dragon. And that doing so unintentionally was a stupid fucking choice.It was also a choice that only a mortal could make.(AKA On stupid choices and grieving and learning how to trust other people when you're bad with all of those)
Relationships: Trahearne/Male Player Character (Guild Wars)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	show them a god of war (choices only a mortal could make)

_”I am fire! I am war! What are you? “_ _  
__  
__“Still standing.”  
_

If there were any gods still listening in on Tyria- he hoped they would strike him down right then and there because being dead right now would be _infinitely easier_ to deal with than the current mess of what was left of Gandara’s throne room.  
  
Charred. Burnt to a crisp really. And almost deathly quiet--aside from the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears and the sound of vicious tearing-into-undead-flesh from Aurene _literally_ eating Joko.  
  
He didn’t blame her. He couldn’t. It was sort of poetic really, that the lich had wasted so much time monologuing and toying with her Champion that Aurene got bored of hunting scarabs and Awakened and came to say her own piece instead of letting Alistair say it for her. 

The spell holding him in place collapsed with a flash of blue, and he found himself hitting the ashy ground with a thud, eyes still locked on the sight of what was left of Joko.  
  
Which was, of course, Not Much At All. His face was contorted yet in its final expression-- confused and almost mockingly fearful-- with the smell of rotting and extremely burnt flesh lingering around him and now filling the room completely. 

Had it been anyone else who’d set Joko on fire, Alistair Kerroway (Leader of Dragon's Watch and former Commander of the Pact) would have laughed himself sick and then kicked the body out the window. Of course, it hadn’t been anyone else. It’d been him. The Mesmer. The one who was _not supposed to be able to summon fire_ who had _literally spontaneously combusted in rage_ , and now it took all he had in him not to panic and flee--instead staring down at his hands instead of looking back at Braham behind him.  
  
His palms were unblemished. No scars. No embers. Just a softly fading glow of gold that settled into his skin.  
  


_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck--_

  
“What--was that?” A breath, a prayer, and an accusation all at once as Braham finally spoke in utter disbelief and some sort of wary awe. “Commander, when did you get the ability to _explode_ ?”

Alistair said nothing, only looking up as the door slammed open behind them with heavy footfalls following the sound.  
  
“You should have _seen it_ !” The Primeval Queens and their ghost army wiped out the third-generation plague bugs! The Awakened are all disoriented—throwing down their weapons, screaming, crying...”

Taimi stared past them at the charred throne room with wide eyes—then at Aurene who was still wholly distracted with her meal. “Braham....” Finally. Weakly. “How much fire did you use? And what is Aurene eating?”

Braham stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded. Alistair though couldn’t blame her--because of course one would assume that Braham was the one who oven-roasted Joko. Guardians were known for fire, after all. Braham was a Guardian. Alistair was not.  
  
It was too easy a lie to let pass. He’d let himself wonder later if he should be lying to his friends. For now though--  
  
Alistair- no- The Commander - leaned back on his heels, plastering a grin on his face and allowing himself to laugh. The movement startles both Taimi and Braham.  
  
“It was kind of incredible. And Joko. She’s eating Joko.”  
 _  
“What?”_  
  
“That can’t be--” Taimi turned green, leaning against Mr Scruffy as she completely missed Braham’s look of suspicion and indignation at having the blame pinned on him.  
  
“Hygenic?” The Commander just kicked the rubble away from his feet, then crouched down to retrieve Caladbolg from where it had been knocked from his grasp in the blast.  
  
(It’s a comforting weight, but his grip remained tender in fear of accidentally burning the sword. If he'd damaged it---) .  
  
 _  
No. Not right now. I can't think of that right now._  
  
  
“It isn’t.” He said finally. “Regardless, tell everyone to give the Awakened a wide berth. We still have a lot to mop up out there.”   
  
“Will do.” Taimi turned, only glancing back once at them--voice raspy and nauseous. “I...need some air.” And he couldn’t blame her. He really couldn't.  
  
There were more approaching footsteps in the wake of her departure, and mixed in with the sounds of Aurene’s growling nearby--it was so very easy to drown himself in distraction of other people. To joke with Canach, remind Gorrik that no, he can’t keep any Scarab Plague samples.  
  
  
The weight of Braham’s gaze on him never left him once- and the Commander refused to look back at him. 

* * *

  
  


In his mind, the silence that carried with them on the way through the Vineyards was a godsdamn blessing, so much so that he was painfully disappointed when it was broken. There’s a heavy weight in his stomach when Braham finally speaks-- as he glanced back at Alistair with something like apprehension (and suspicion, but that look never actually stopped.)

“So, mind telling me when you gained the ability to explode?” The words are not loudly spoken—a blessing with the approaching buildings. Alistair didn't reply—keeping his eyes on the road around them in case of danger. “Commander--”

“I heard you, Braham.” His voice is clipped, every word forced out unwillingly because he really didn’t want to have this conversation. He could live without never having to acknowledge the messes that he made. “And I don't particularly want to talk about it.”  
  
“So you're just going to keep avoiding the topic?”  
  
The world was not kind enough to humor him.  
  
“What, are you going to yell at me again for it?” The words come out too sharp—too cruel. There's an awkward and painful silence and he gripped the reins of his raptor.  
  
  
 _Gods—he's a babyface. Don't be mean to him. He's going through his own issues._ _  
_  
_He left._ A traitorous burning voice in his head that sounded like nightmares and his death murmured. _Ran. Coward—blamed you for things out of your control. Believed that he knew better than you._  
  
  
Alistair closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to breathe in and out.  
  
“Sorry. “ Finally. “That was..uncalled for.”  
  
“You're allowed to ask other people for help, you know.” The words are startlingly Un-Braham and Alistair's head swung up to look at him. Braham said nothing (fair play, honestly) and slowed his raptor to a halt—looking up at the looming halls in front of them.  
  
“Braham--”  
  
“Go get Aurene, Commander. Let's get this over with, so we can get back to dealing with Kralkatorrik.” Then, as the Norn glanced at the entry-- “I, uh...think I'll stay outside. Seeing Utumishi makes my fist twitchy. “  
  
Alistair couldn't help but laugh at that, shaking his head. The mood quickly left him as he stepped into the Great Hall—past the whispers and accusations and into ear-splitting cacophony. The Commander closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
 _  
Fools. Incompetent politicians incapable of getting things sorted on their own. Is this how they plan to take on destiny?_ _  
_  
_  
Shut. Up. You’re dead. You don’t get a say._  
  
  
There was a growl, and Alistair looked up at Aurene, who herself had turned to face him. He could feel her presence now—familiar and safe.  
  
“Thank the gods.” Zaeim murmured-- the only one stepping forward any closer to him--and Aurene by proximity. “Commander! Welcome! Do you think maybe you could...relocate your dragon?” There was a snort from Taimi.  
  
“She won't budge, Commander. I think she was waiting for you.” The Commander sighed and crouched down amongst the sand and marble to Aurene's level, pulling the Harlequin mask from his face so she could meet his gaze - Champion to Scion instead of Commander to Dragon.  
  
“Well, I'm here now. Aurene,” he says. “We need to leave. Let these people do their work.”  
  
She doesn't move, and he could hear scoffs in the background-- murmurs and lingering fear at the presence of the dragon. Ignoring it, Alistair reached out to run his hand over her head.  
  
Warmth. Fire. He nearly pulled his hand back—only stopping when Aurene tilted her head--gold eyes wide--and leaned into the touch. It doesn’t burn. The magic seemed to know better than to harm him—or her. Even in the short few months that they'd had since Balthazar's Fall, he'd quickly learned that fact. It simply...  
  
  
Hovered. Ominously. He frowned slightly, leaning to press his forehead to hers.  
  
 _  
What have I done, Aurene?_ Aurene had no answers, simply making a curious churriping sound. He sighed.  
  


“This is no place for a dragon, and you know it.” A look. Aurene huffed and got to her feet, trodding over to his side. “Thank you.”  
  
 _Just breathe._ It is not her voice. He wouldn't hear that for weeks—months even. But it was how he imagined she'd sound like. Young. Curious. Full of wisdom that she shouldn't have had to learn yet. _Don't light them on fire._  
  
 _You make it sound so easy._  
  


* * *

“Okay, what does the last line of the poem say?“  
  
The air in his lungs vanished abruptly as Alistair stared at the old tablet -- uncracked and unharmed by time. He pressed shaking fingers lightly against the stone, as if the merest touch might shatter it and ruin its contents.  
  
 _  
Darkness pays Orr a visit._

_With billowing robes of blackened silk,_

_She beckons us, arms outstretched._

_I see my brothers walk forward, greet her as a friend._

_So many fold themselves into her embrace._

_And even over their cries, and the roars of the beasts._

_I hear Darkness call to me with a promise._

_But I close myself. I will not join her yet._

_Another call is more beautiful,_ _  
_  
  
“And I will chase it back to you.” The words wavered as his voice cracked, echoing over the sounds of the looping battle below him. The comm line with Taimi was silent as he ducked his head. He knew those words before he’d climbed the tower. Knew the words before he read them, memorized from cold nights by the dimmed campfire -- breathing forced low and calm while the shrieks and cries of the Risen echoed on the borders of the camp. The air had been thick then with the ash of the dead and burned and the tension of not knowing who would be next to fall before the Dragon could.  
  
He could still feel the warm hand in his, as Trahearne idly examined the connections of where bone and ligament met muscle and flesh. It had been an idle offer—a joke really. The conversations still were burned into his mind like an imprint of battle into flesh.  
  
 _  
“So you became a necromancer for all of this?” He'd waved his hands in the air, gesturing to the surroundings. Trahearne had looked up from his notes, smiling grimly at him in the dim. It wasn’t a happy smile. It was something he had to fix. Then, leaning forward and taking a sip at the coffee that the Commander had smuggled into the supplies-- “Tell me about it.”_ _  
__  
__“What, of Orr?” A gentle, teasing laugh. “And here I’d thought you’d be sick of my ramblings by now.”_ _  
__  
__“I meant of how it works--necromancy and us squishy types.” Alistair held out his hand. It was a poor excuse for a request for some sort of security and reassurance. Trahearne wouldn’t need it to explain the sciences of flesh and bone. “And for the record--never.”_

 _The smile had turned warm anyways, and there was little hesitation in Trahearne humoring him by taking his hand in his own and quietly beginning to speak._ _  
_  
  
“That changes the whole meaning.” Taimi said finally, quietly. “The final line was lost when the city sank.” He buried his face in his hands, stifling a sob as he dragged them down to wipe away tears.  
  
“I wish he could have seen this.” His voice is raw, ragged and he hates this. The pain and the reminder and the feeling of hopelessness. It’s not something he can burn away. Not something he could get rid of. Alistair wiped at his eyes and -- for once -- didn’t even try to be The Commander. Strong. Unflinching.  
  
It’s rare that he can afford to not be that. “I wish he was here.”  
  
“I know.” Taimi didn’t question the shift. She was, if anyone, one of the few people who had seen the difference.  
  
“I miss him. He should have _been here_ .” Quieter then--. “I loved him.” A beat and a breath across the static.  
  
“I know.”  
  


* * *

Balthazar's sword was a weight in his hands and in his stomach-- the cause of the steadily growing sense of panic that crept up his spine and threatened to reduce him to ash from the inside out. It didn't matter that it felt as easy to carry in some strange way as Caladbolg did. That its true owner was dead and couldn’t use it against him ever again.  
  
Alistair didn't want to find it. To retrieve it. To _reignite it_ . But the Commander had also long realized though that he so _very rarely_ ever got what he wanted.  
  
And yet, here he was— the instrument of his own death in hand with a Zaishen Priestess lurking in the shadows behind him. Watching. Waiting. Ready to shoot him, he was sure, if he made one wrong move.  
  
Rytlock shifted in front of him, bringing Sohothin forward. A flash of heat and Alistair dropped the sword—hands shaking too hard as the scar on his chest ached with the ignition of the blade. For a moment, he was pulled back with the smell of smoke and burning blood.

_“Get up! That was too easy.”_ _  
__  
__“So quick to falter. Stand up!”_

_“Too fast! Back on your feet!”_

_“Feeling mortal yet?”_ _  
__  
__“_ _Suffer a little more loudly. Cry out! Let everyone hear!”_

  
  
Only a moment. There was no sound of his own screaming, nor crashing metal against stone, and instead the sword simply hovered in the air between him and Rytlock. Instead, there were cheers.  
  
“Yes! It worked--” Blish's words were promptly cut off as the sword rose and twirled, launching itself around the area as multiple people stepped back to watch as it looped Sun's Refuge once—twice--  
  
Settling where Aurene had been before she'd fled—but only a moment. Alistair stepped back as the blade floated over in his direction. Dread, overwhelming and he steps back another step. Two. Three.  
  
The blade followed, and there was a very strong temptation in the back of his mind to _flee._  
  
 _  
No--- nonononono--_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
“_ It seeks Balthazar.” Zafirah spoke slowly, looking at him with growing suspicion. “Senses his magic. He was never here.”  
  
“But Aurene was!” Taimi glanced between the two. “And she absorbed some of his magic, right? Commander—you're her _champion_. Maybe it senses her through you--”  
  
She went silent, watching—staring really. They all were. Alistair just stared at the sword as if it had just stabbed him (again). He didn’t have to guess that he probably looked _incredibly guilty_ right now.. “...Commander?”  
  
“I didn't light Joko on fire.” Braham said, quietly from behind him. “The Commander did.”  
  
“But you're....” A beat. “Sparkly. Mesmer-y. Not a Guardian. Or an Elementalist.”  
  
“It was an accident.” He whispered.  
  
“You _accidentally_ exploded Joko?” It sounded stupid—especially when Rytlock said it like that.  
  
“It was an _accident_.”  
  
  
“Commander--” He doesn’t mean to flinch. Not at the title. Not at the curiosity and confirming exhale in Braham’s breath after the fact. A beat. “Alistair.”

He had to steady himself.The name is an acknowledgement and acceptance and an apology all at once. There are quiet whispers around them--shallow and not understanding.  
  
“It was--”  
  
He’s been the Commander for so long that people had forgotten that he could be anyone else. For Braham to do so though--

“It--” A breath. “I absorbed some of Balthazar's magic. When he died. Not Aurene—not---not entirely.”  
  
  
Silence.  
  
  


* * *

  
_Balthazar's dying curses were cut off by the last dregs of his form collapsing--magic exploding outwards. Alistair was knocked backwards by the blast, hitting the ground hard as rubble and fire erupted into the air._ _  
__  
__Across the garden, he could see Aurene— feel her fear as the storm coalesced around her like a vice around his heart._ _  
__  
__“Aurene--” He dodged another blast of magic, narrowing his gaze. Behind him, a familliar and frightening roar echoed across the Sky Gardens. Kralkatorrik._ _  
__  
__He exhaled sharply, instinctively pulling on his own magic and used it to place a tether—drawing himself in a flash of purple light across the storm._ _  
__  
__Stumbling forward, Alistair wrapped his arms around the panicked dragon's neck as gold eyes turn to look at him. It was a poor attempt at comfort that might just disintegrate them both, but frankly—he couldn't really care less at that moment._ _  
__  
__“It's okay.” He said, trying desperately not to think about the fact that Kralkatorrik was right behind them and could easily eat them both at any moment._ _  
__  
__The storm around them_ **_burned_ ** _in a way that made him feel like he was dying again--sinking into his bones and scorching them to the core. Aurene reared back, but he held on tightly—sheltering her from the storm and the dragon as best he could. Later, in the depths of Glint's Lair, he would be reminded that this is what it's like to share power with a dragon. And that doing so unintentionally was a_ **_stupid fucking choice._ ** **_  
_** **_  
_** _It was also a choice that only a mortal could make._

* * *

**_  
_** **_  
_** His head buzzed numbly as Braham pulled him off to an alcove of the Refuge--moving away on autopilot from the noise and questions and stares. Alistair only then came to with the sensation of a warm mug being pressed into his hands and the rich smell of--  
  
“Where the hell did you get coffee?” He blinked up at the Norn, who shrugged and gestured back towards the crowd.  
  
“Gorrik had a stash. Thought it might wake you up a bit.” There’s a moment of silence. “You okay?” Alistair shook his head.  
  
“Would you believe me if I said I’d honestly thought I could get through all of this without anyone finding out?” Braham snorted.  
  
“You’re not exactly _talky_ about your issues.”  
  
“My _issues?”_  
  
“You could walk around-- on death’s door-- and you would just turn down help claiming it’s taking up resources. “ The norn gave him a knowing glance , before sighing--settling across from him. “Look. I know we haven’t really talked about what happened-- but I heard from Taimi about how you left the Pact.” Alistair looked down at the ground. It’s not what he expected him to say. He expected Braham to ask about Balthazar. About dying and coming back and how they’d had to save a Dragon from a God and how they may have doomed Tyria doing so. 

“And what did she say?”  
  
“You were furious. Looked like you wanted to kill General Soulkeeper right there.”  
  
“Did Taimi say that she’d said that--” A beat as the coffee mug heated in his hands. He stared at it.  
  
“Yeah.” Gently. “And his legacy or no-- it wasn’t right of them to ask that of you.”  
  
“She said he got himself killed.” Alistair closed his eyes, trying to shove out the feeling of Caladbolg fractured in his hands--covered in blood-sap and the color of Trahearne’s eyes as the possession of Mordremoth faded along with any life.  
  
“She didn’t know. You didn’t--” Tell anyone. The sylvari knew--but it was hard for them to not considering their natural empathic links. To anyone else--it just sounded like the Marshal had fallen in the final fight.  
  
“That doesn’t make it right.”  
  
“No.” Braham agreed. “It didn’t. And you’ve been running yourself ragged ever since. We all have.”  
  
“I can’t afford to stop now.” He rubbed at his eyes. “I have to get that tracker on Kralkatorrik. Find Aurene. Figure out how to fix _all of this_ .”  
  
“You don’t have to do that alone.” Braham sat back. “You have Dragon’s Watch. Your allies here. What’s left of the Pact _regardless_ .” A beat. “ I've been an idiot, I know it. Sometimes I just... don't use my head. But no matter what I put you through, you never gave up on me. And I didn't—I was so—”  
  
“Braham--”  
  
“Don’t tell me it’s okay. It's not okay. It's no way to treat... family. That's what we are, you and me. Family.” Alistair couldn't help but smile a bit.  
  
“Been practicing this speech?” Braham laughed, throwing his head back with the force of it.  
  
“Weeks. “ He admitted. “Took me long enough, but for now on wherever you go, I'm right behind you.”  
  
“Beside me. To the End.”  
  
“And beyond.” A nod. “And for the record-- the ‘Exploding Joko’ thing was _awesome._ And you should totally do that to Kralkatorrik.”  
  
“He also has that magic.” Alistair winced. “And I can’t--control it that well.”  
  
“Have you practiced?” The answer, of course, was no. He hadn’t had the time, or the space to do so. Not with the war and everyone over his shoulder at any point in time.  
  
“When would I have had the time?” Braham shook his head.  
  
“Then we’ll fix that. I’ll help you. Better a Guardian anyways, right?” An eyebrow raise.  
  
“Where would I even start?”  
  
“The powers of fire and war--” Braham gave him a contemplative look, before nodding decisively. “Let’s get you using a greatsword _properly_ .”

* * *

“I’m _dying_ , Braham. _Fuck Kralkatorrik_ \--this is how I _end_.” There are dual snorts of laughter-- one from the Norn training him--the other from Aurene where she was perched on top of a pillar. He leaned against Caladbolg---using it as a crutch.  
  
“It’s not my fault you had shoddy training.”  
  
“I don’t need to _hold_ a greatsword like you do to cast!” He swore under his breath as he blocked an attack. “It’s meant to be a focus--not a direct weapon!” He pushes off- ducking under Braham’s swing and aiming to knock him off his feet--  
  
\--before being promptly launched back by a blast of Aegis. He swears colourfully, prompting a sigh from Braham who sheathes his mace. “What?”  
  
“Fire _and_ War. We’re not getting the second, let’s try the first.”  
  
“War might just be tactics.” Alistair points out. “Or Kralkatorrik has that part.”  
  
“Fire then.” Braham throws his arms out to the side. “Blast me.”  
  
“ _What?”_  
  
“Aegis. Fireproof.” Alistair set down Caladbolg as Braham sighed once more--put upon and dramatic in a way that’s almost ridiculous. “If you really _have to_ , you could _try_ with that as a focus--”  
  
“I’m _not_ attacking you.” He says, firmly. A bit too sharply. Aurene tilts her head. Alistair steps back once.  
  
“We could get you a boring greatsword.” Braham glances at Caladbolg. Alistair pauses a moment. He’s not _wrong_ . The idea of accidentally destroying it is…  
  
“That’s not the point.”  
  
“Then you’re going to have to be more clear.”  
  
“I don’t _want_ this magic!” His voice cracks, sharp and loud and more than one person across the way of the training rooms turned to glance at them (short lived--as Aurene’s glares set them right.) “I just wanted Aurene safe and not to be eaten by Kralkatorrik! Not to end up with the magic of the god who _killed me_ ! I _won’t_ use it--it’s only good for destroying things--not when everything _now_ is already falling apart!”  
  
There is a beat of silence, and he realized that he’s gripping the handle of Caladbolg tightly enough that the rougher edges of the thorn-blade were digging into his palms.  
  
“It won’t save anyone.” His voice was near silent in admission.  
  
“You’re right. It won’t.” Alistair blinked, looking up as Braham stepped forward, leaning lightly against the pillar that Aurene was perched on. “It doesn’t matter how much firepower you throw at Kralkatorrik. It won’t save anyone--and it wouldn’t have if you’d had it earlier. Not against Balthazar. Not against Mordremoth.”  
  
“I don’t--that’s not--” He wiped at his eyes roughly. “ _Shut up_ .”  
  
“It won’t save anyone.” Braham repeated. “But working with others might. And right now--you’re not letting anyone help you. That’s what Wolf is all about-- facing impossible battles as a team. Overcoming them _together_ .”  
  
“I’m not Norn.” Quieter. Braham shook his head.  
  
“And I’m not human--and yet here we are, figuring out how to handle the fact that you’ve absorbed the magic of a Spirit of Action itself, and that you can _set your enemies on fire_. Besides--no one ever fought a war alone.” He shrugged. “Why should you be the precedent here?” 

“You make it sound so _easy_ .”  
  
“I can’t promise that no one else is going to die, Alistair.” Braham reaches out, clasping a hand over the man’s shoulder. It’s a bit of a rough gesture--but a comforting one regardless. “But I can promise that none of us will blame you for it. And that if we’re going down fighting Kralkatorrik--that would be a death worthy of the legends we’ve made. Pushing us away won’t work. Face it, you’re stuck with us.”

Aurene chirps in agreement. Alistair said nothing, but didn’t resist when Braham pulled him into a hug. 

* * *

The fire does not save her. 

He shouldn’t have expected it would--not against Kralkatorrik. Not against a magic-crazed world-eating dragon.  
  
He could hear Rytlock shouting behind him. He could hear Taimi and Caithe crying. He could hear Braham step up beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“What do we do now?”  
  
Alistair stared at the corpse of Aurene, pressing a hand to her shoulder. Cold. Lifeless.  
  
 _She’s dead._  
  
Aurene is dead. He has failed the mission. Tyria. The Pact.  
  
 _He’s failed her._  
  
“I don’t know.” He takes a step back. One. Two.  
  
It is easier than Alistair expects, tearing a portal into the Mists--space warping around him and shifting from brandstone and ice to ash and dirt.  
  
There are scorch marks on the ground, he notices--numbly--from where Sohothin was reignited. Any signs of passing through are gone now--but the chains still remain. Severed.  
  
It felt like being here should be distressing him more. It hurt less than he expected. There were no half-carried memories attached here.  
  
The voice of Balthazar in his head was silent, and there was no one here to see him break.  
  


* * *

  
  
 _“Does it ever stop hurting?” His own voice was almost foreign to himself, and he only knows that it’s Trahearne beside him by his footsteps. The Firstborn settled beside him though, following his gaze back towards the Thunderhead Battery, Ceera’s words still echoing in his head._ _  
__  
__“Tonn knew what he was getting into, Commander.” Trahearne said gently. “His sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”_ _  
__  
__“That’s not what I asked.” The Marshal sighed._ _  
__  
__“No. It doesn’t.”_ _  
__  
__“How do you keep it from destroying you?” His voice cracks. “We’ve lost so many people already--and we’re going to lose more. We could still just--_ **_lose_ ** _\-- and all of this will have been for nothing.”_ _  
__  
__“Is that what you believe, Commander?” Alistair looked up at him, and his expression was solemn. A moment passed._ _  
__  
__“No.” He shakes his head, and Trahearne nodded._ _  
__  
__“I understand, Commander. I have lost countless people close to me in this war--” Alistair catches the slight movement of Trahearne shifting--hand brushing against where he’s braced Caladbolg against the rail beside him. “--I can’t let myself believe though that it was for nothing though. That they would want me to give up now. This was their cause too, and we have to carry it through. For them--and for us.”_ _  
__  
__There is silence, but it is easier now. Comforting._ _  
__  
__“This is why you’re Marshal.” Alistair said, finally. “Because you have all the good speeches.” A snort._ _  
__  
__“I promise, that wasn’t my intention.”_ _  
__  
__“Seriously--were those in the Orrian History Books? I missed those when I read them.” They both crack up at that, and while he knows that he’s not okay now--he will be later._ _  
__  
__And that he won’t be alone for now--or then._ _  
_

* * *

He opened his eyes to the sight of the cliffs over Lion’s Arch, and the sound of the communicator in his jacket buzzing.

“Commander?”  
  
“Caithe.” A breath, deep and tired. “Where are you?”  
  
“We’re still in Thunderhead Keep. With Aurene’s--” A painful pause. Alistair pulled himself to his feet, “With Aurene. Where--” Another beat, “What are you doing?”  
  


 _What am I even doing here?_ The realization hits him like Braham’s Aegis. _I should be back there. With the others._

  
“I’m sorry.” To her first, disrupted question. To the second-- “And I don’t know. But I’m not where I should be.” Where he needs to be.  
  
“Please.” Her voice cracks. “She--I need you. Here.”  
  
“I’m in Lion’s Arch. I’ll grab an airship--” He pauses. “Nope. Faster travel.” He can hear Caithe laugh ever so slightly, despite the situation. “I’ll be right there. I promise.”  
  
“Thank you. Be safe.”  
  
  
 _“What do we do now?”_ _  
__  
__“I don’t know.”_ _  
  
_

The communicator clicks and Alistair glanced back over at the city, hand ghosting over the pommel of Caladbolg.

 _  
__“_ _Here, at the end, I am glad that it's just you and me.”_ _  
__  
_  
“I’m not done fighting yet.” He whispers to the wind. A breath, a promise, and a shaky but unmistakable hope all at once. “For you. For Aurene. For the world.”  
  
The fabric of space smoothly tears open. Alistair steps through.  
  


* * *

They are absolutely, completely lost, and Hell seems to be a burning forest with enemies _everywhere_ .  
  
“This is _not_ where my camp is supposed to be.” The ghostly warden to their left huffed, holding onto her bow with a tight-knucked grip. “If we could get to high ground, we could get a better view--allow me to calculate our trajectory--”  
  
“We tried that.” The Olmakhan to Muir’s right near-snarls. “You got stabbed by one of those shadow creatures.”  
  
“Lightly stabbed--”  
  
They are not paying enough attention to their surroundings--which means it’s up to the awakened Sylvari and defacto leader of the little group to hear the sounds of cracking wood in the near distance. Muir stuck their hands out, blocking both Vexxar and Kali’s forward movement.  
  
“Hey--”  
  
“What-- “  
  
“Shh.” They whispered, eyes narrowed. “Do you hear that?”  
  
All three paused, listening intently just as the Hydra rounded the corner, all three heads swiveling to look at them while unstable magic gathers above them. “Meteors, _duck_!” 

They moved quickly--they had no choice really-- Muir covering their heads with an Aegis spell while Kali gathers magic to her hands. The sound of gathering thunder echoed above the trees, a cold front moving in.  
  
“Get the heads!” Vexxar ducked, firing arrows at the first head, with shards of ice and hail came down on the second. Muir braced themself against a wall, drawing their staff and firing a blast of energy at the last head--only for it to weave out of the way and turn to look at them.  
  
  
They’re not fast enough. They don’t have time to set up another Aegis, and the Hydra is right above them. Muir closes their eyes and Vexxar _screams._  
  
There’s a rush of heat and silence, and then a deafening roar. Muir’s eyes opened to a figure standing over them--form glowing in purple and gold with an axe in one hand--other hand outstretched in front of them.  
  
Above their heads, the Scion of Glint circled the nearest peak and dove for the Hydra’s body.  
  
“Hey, are you alright?” Muir looked up to see the figure turning to face them--The Commander looking down at them with concern. “You’re a bit far from the Camp.”  
  
“We-uh--” A glance over at Kali and Vexxar who are staring at them, wide eyed. “Got lost?”  
  
“Well then it’s a good thing you found each other, and that I found you all.” He pulls them to their feet. “If you give me a moment, Aurene will have this Hydra dead--”  
  
 _“Already done, my champion--”_ Her voice echoes from a few feet away.  
  
“We can escort you to the Crystal Blooms from above-- clearing the path any enemies from there. Does that sound alright?” Muir nodded numbly, and the Commander grinned, climbing onto of Aurene’s back as the other two joined their friend. “Let’s go then.”  
  
There’s a whoosh of air as Aurene takes to the sky, trees rapidly falling away below them. The wind is cold against his face, despite the fires burning below. The smoke doesn’t bother him here. It may again at some point, but not today.  
  
 _  
Not today._ _  
__  
_  
His communicator beeps, and Zafirah’s voice carries through it.  
  
“There’s a powerful Abyssal to the northwest of the island.” Alistair glanced down at Aurene, who let out a breath of shining flame herself.  
  
“We’re on it.” She laughs, voice crackling through the static.  
  
  
“Well then. Show them, Commander. Show them a God of War.”  
  
  


* * *

_“This is a great day, a joyous day...but I am still troubled. To achieve such a victory, with so much yet to be done”_

_Trahearne’s voice carried from behind him as the Marshal settled to his right--leaning against the railing. He could hear cheering and shouts from below the airship--down in the bowels of Fort Trinity. Alistair Kerroway, Commander of the Pact and Very Proud Friend Right Now was probably drunk, buzzed at the very least. But he can certainly claim blame to the alcohol on how he finds himself leaning into the presence of the Firstborn, gently nudging him with his shoulder._

_“ I thought you’d be thrilled. After all, your Wyld Hunt is complete.” Trahearne nods, looking out over the horizon to where the dragon still slept--as if he didn’t quite believe that he’d accomplished the impossible himself._ _  
_

_“Yes, but I find myself left with an even bigger, more daunting task: shepherding the Pact through five impossible victories over the Elder Dragons themselves.”_ _  
_

_“You’re not alone in that though. ‘Our fates are bound together, and from this day forward, we fight as one.’, remember?” A grin, and he pushed off the railing, holding a hand out to the Firstborn. “Put your burden down for a moment and let the Pact cheer its Marshal.”_ _  
__  
__Trahearne smiles, and it’s almost painful to see the hope in it. There’s no hesitation when he takes his hand._ _  
_

 _“You're right. Victory does not end a general's responsibility to his soldiers. I shall join the celebration.”_ _  
__  
__“And get properly trashed?” Trahearne laughed. It felt like sunlight and hope and courage._ _  
__  
__And victory._

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
